


cigarette smoke & ugly smiles: a poetry archive.

by graveyardroses



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other, Poetry, depending on some things, mostly about macabre topics, poem compilation, there might be some happy poems though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27201658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graveyardroses/pseuds/graveyardroses
Summary: a book of poems written for no fandom. trigger warnings will be posted in the notes of each poem. thanks for reading.
Kudos: 2





	1. your perfect dead body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: mention of corpse. imagery of worms.

**your perfect dead body**

all the tears run swiftly down my face and i swallow them like cough syrup. my skin is dry and cracked and the water is gone. i wake up and brush my teeth and a corpse stares at me in the mirror. i’ll pretend that i can get out of bed and smile, i’ll pretend that i am living so you don’t worry. i’ll be your perfect dead body. polish me with wax and seal me in a coffin, and my chest will look like it rises and falls as the worms burrow softly into my skin.


	2. coffins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: mild gore. mention of death. slight body horror. blood mention. mention of funeral homes.

**coffins**

there are times when  
i want to step out of my skin, peel it down, don’t mind the blood  
soaking my tattered bones. i wouldn’t mind, honestly, but  
are any of us honest? in middle school everyone   
called me a pathological liar. i tucked my lips upwards. i ignored  
them and told them my father   
was a god. (he wasn’t, he will never be)

hello, miss, i would like a coffin. i would like  
wood to wipe away the red. don’t  
look at me like i’m insane, no, it’s not  
for my dead grandfather, but i say it is anyway.  
can you delicately   
wrap the shell of my skin   
around me? can you delicately  
tuck me in like you’re reading me a bedtime story?  
can you delicately  
lower me into the ground?  
i walked into the funeral home each day until they locked the doors.


	3. darkroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: ghosts.

**darkroom.**

i walk with ghosts. we tread lightly,  
and the ticket man is somewhere across the cobblestone   
and he’s carrying a bell, clanking it against the counter   
and i can’t see my shadow anymore  
but did i have one, anyway?

i think: my life on a 70 millimeter movie roll,   
refilmed and refilmed, when i was a child  
i made up stories about who i was, when i was older,  
i taped them. 

how could i film my life when it was  
made up 

of scratched black and white photographs, spilled fix liquid on the frames,   
tucked away godknowswhere with hands-chewed-off stuffed animals  
that won’t fit in the garbage can

the ticket man’s ringing the bell, it’s my turn, i step up  
grab the ticket  
and shove it in my pocket, i’m not   
scared of my life, but i know  
that a child who’s suffered, a child who carries  
their history on their limbs is a child  
who can never matter to anyone but   
the kindest people  
and kindness  
is rare as hell

i walk into the room, sit down, the projector starts up,  
the reel spins and it spins and it spins and the film is running out   
and the spool is growing smaller and it  
turns again and again, i watch  
see-through figures in the background, see them sitting next to me  
as i watch myself unravel.


End file.
